Scary Potter and the Resurrection
by Godtrick
Summary: What if Harry's mother didn't sacrifice herself for him all those years ago? Say he has no magical protection? How would Sorcerer's Stone have really ended?


"…Now give me the Stone."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SIEZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist.

Harry thrashed wildly and tried to shake Quirrell off, but his vice-like grip just tightened and pulled Harry roughly forward. Quirrell smacked Harry hard upside the head with his other hand, his glasses went flying. Harry crumpled against the man, eyes spinning, ears ringing as he reeled. With a snap of his fingers, Quirrell returned the ropes that had bound Harry moments before. They wrapped around Harry tightly once again as he lay on the floor, world still spinning out of control.

"…the Stone…" Voldemort hissed softly.

Harry was barley conscious of the hand that groped inside of his pocket as Quirrell retrieved the Stone. He had no strength to resist, nor would his bounds allow him to budge an inch if he had.

"Master…the Stone. It's ours." Quirrell sounded struck, as if he had never hoped to achieve success on the mission that Voldemort had sent him upon.

"Quirrell…The potion…Quickly." Through blurry vision, Harry saw the man scramble up and away.

How long he lay there, Harry didn't know. Time drifted hazily around him and he couldn't tell a minute apart from an hour. He was only aware of the vague mutterings and whimpers from Quirrell and the hiss of Voldemort's voice. The excited murmurs and cries from both men had made an uneasy knot of horror settle deep in Harry's stomach. He tried to move, maybe if he could sit up and clear his head, he could find some way to stop this all from happening. A groan escaped from him as he tried to lift his heavy aching head. Quirrell and Voldemort both fell silent at the sound.

"Potter." Quirrell muttered, as if he had forgotten that Harry was there.

"Bring him…it is almost ready. Let him see me…reborn. Show him that no one…can stop Lord Voldemort." Harry felt hands grasp his ankles. He was dragged across the room and propped against the wall. His body sagged to the side and his head lolled around sickeningly. Quirrell sat him straight and jammed his glasses back onto his face.

Harry blearily tried to focus on the scene in front of him. A large cauldron was set up on a table in the middle of the room, bubbling sluggishly. Thick cloudy red smoke was seeping over the sides of the cauldron and billowing out around the room. Harry watched Quirrell wade through the smoke to check the contents of the cauldron.

"My Lord…I think- it's ready, My Lord."

"Quickly…" Voldemort hissed, low and vehement. Quirrell jumped and pulled out a flask. He ladled a generous amount of golden liquid from the cauldron into the glass. He paused,

"M-my lord...?"

"…drink it…" Quirrell blanched. His hands shook, but he grasped the flask tightly so that it would not show.

"Y-yes, my lord." Slowly he raised it to his lips and drank. Harry watched as the man shuddered violently. He fell to the ground coughing and sputtering, his whole body convulsing. A horrible scream erupted from him and he moved, clutching to the table, and clawed his way to his feet. Quirrell stumbled as if he was drunk as he made his way over to Harry. He collapsed a few feet from where Harry was bound, moans and whimpers coming from the pile of Quirrell.

After a moment, a shaky hand reached out to Harry. He looked at it in horror. Skin that had, moments ago, been normal and healthy was now red, raw and cracked. The nails were a nasty green tinted black. Skin flaked off as the hand inched closer.

"H-help…m.." Quirrell sagged to the ground once again. The body continued to shudder. Quirrell was suddenly flung onto his back, convulsing more wildly than before, his body contorting sickly. The shrieks that emerged from him made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. Harry wriggled and tried to squirm free, desperately wanting to flee whatever it was that was happening here. He tried to look away but he was strangely hypnotized by what happened next. Quirrell began clawing wildly at his chest, the robes ripped and he tore at the skin as well until it began to peel away. Strips and chunks of bloody flesh fell to the ground as Quirrell scratched at his entire body.

It was like watching an incredibly macabre version of a lizard shedding its skin. The more skin that fell away, the clearer it became to Harry that there was no lasting wounds where the flesh was torn from, only a second layer of skin. Quirrell reached back and grasped his own scalp and yanked. The entire face slid off with a wet squelch, like some obscene mask.

That was when Harry realized it wasn't his old professor at all, it was Voldemort! The potion had given him a body. He had used Quirrell's body for the basis of his own new one. Harry gaped in horror. Voldemort stood tall, still slick with blood and looking quite happy in the midst of the mess he'd created. He stretched and flexed, gazing at his new limbs- then he spotted Harry. The red eyes. Red like the blood that coated the floor and stained his skin. Voldemort grinned and he bent down to retrieve Quirrell's wand where it lay forgotten in the gore.

"Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Boy To Die."


End file.
